Tooth and Claw
by A Flying Tomato
Summary: So who's afraid of the big, bad werewolf? The darkspawn, if they know what's good for them... Cousland/Alistair, OC-centric


**So after yet another playthrough of Dragon Age, I had a curious idea cross through my head. Out of the three army recruitment quests, two of them involved getting a new party member. But for some reason, you get no such chance during the Nature of the Beast quest. So my imagination went wild one day, and this is the result.**

**The PC in this story will be a female human noble in a romance with Alistair. But I think most of that will be in the background. I'm going to make this story OC-centric**

**Enjoy :)**

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_I feel it deep within…_

_It's just beneath the skin…_

_I must confess that I feel like a monster…_

"Monster" - Skillet

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Blood colored red eyes followed their movements.

Noiselessly, he watched them move slowly across the path, their eyes were alert, cautious to any danger that may lay within the forest. They had no idea of the trap that laid before them, of the danger that was lying in wait, crouched just meters away. But of course, how could they? He was built and bred for this. To stalk his prey. To create and execute a flawless ambush. Swift, silent and deadly. A master of stealth. He was the perfect predator.

And they? They were the perfect prey.

He watched from the shadows as they approached the hillside. There were a dozen or so in the party. Hunters, no doubt sent by the Dalish keeper in retaliation for the raid on their camp. But now, it seems that the hunters just became the _hunted_. He grinned at the irony.

His ears twitched as one of his brothers shifted in his crouch, excitement running hot through his veins. He couldn't blame him. There was nothing more thrilling than the hunt. The feeling of control, the sense of power, the adrenaline rush, the delight and bliss of letting one's mind fall under impulse. And, oh yes, the bloodlust. The sweet, sweet taste of blood and revenge.

But all of those were nothing when compared to the satisfaction of letting primal instincts and urges emerge from where they had been kept dormant and suppressed. To simply let the curse have complete control once again. Allow the mind to shut down, lose composure. Embrace his violent nature.

"_Such thoughts are dangerous, and can nullify all that which I have done for you."_

The Lady's words echoed though his head and he silently sighed. She was right. He must restrain himself. Lose control and he risks falling back under the animalistic, bestial nature he found himself trapped in for over a century. Control. He must have control…

A quiet snarl filled the air, a sign from one of his brothers, the pack leader. It was time. A gleeful, wicked grin stretched across his snout as he shifted his weight forward, in position to strike.

Their attack came without warning nor mercy. One of his brothers leapt from an overhanging tree and crashed upon the elven hunter taking up the rear of the formation. The impact of the two was tremendous. The heavy weight of the werewolf crushing the elf's spine. The column of elves spun around at the loud crash, the unexpected ambush sending them into shock.

That moment of hesitation was all his pack needed.

With a bloodcurdling howl, they pounced out from the shadows. From out of the darkness like monsters straight out of a nightmare. The Dalish hunters attempted to guard themselves; they raised swords, shields and crossbows, a desperate defense.

They never stood a chance.

He and his brethren were upon the elves in a blink of the eye. There was screaming, howls and snarls. The sound of flesh being torn apart. The smell of blood, sweat and fear ravished and overwhelmed his senses. Complete and utter chaos.

He relished in it.

Despite himself, he allowed his bestial side to take over. Overtaking a young Dalish archer, he tackled the boy into the mud. A hungry growl emerged from his throat and he struck. Razor sharp, dagger-like claws tearing through the young elf's armor as if it was made from paper. The elf screamed as his flesh was ripped and frayed into tattered threads. Then, as if to strike a killing blow; the werewolf's muzzle descended upon the boy's throat. He bit down, hard.

The sweet taste of blood…

The elf's body violently trembled with a spasm, then went limp in his arms.

With a sneer, he stood up from the corpse. Blood trickled down his jaws, staining his teeth red and soaking his fur. His own blood ran hot and his fingers twitched with excitement and pleasure. Then, he took several deep breaths to gain his composure. Breathing through his mouth rather than his noise, else the fresh smell of blood send him over the edge again.

His pack brothers had finished off the rest of the hunting party. The sight was rather gruesome and did nothing more than help his heart beat faster with adrenaline. He closed his eyes and fought within himself.

_Control, must have control…_

His heartbeat eventually slowed and his body calmed. Pride surged through his body, he had won against the monster hidden within himself. He opened his eyes, relieved that his state of mind was civilized again. He started whispering, a single phrase over and over again.

"_My name is Prowl, werewolf of the Brecilian Forest coven. I am not a mindless beast..."_

He walked back over to where his brothers had gathered, a circle around his leader who towered over them all.

"Come. We must return to the lair." His pack leader, the eldest amongst them, spoke. In silent agreement, he and his brethren faded away into the tree line. Disappearing into the shadows.

They left behind a dozen fresh corpses, and the grass, which was a discolored mix between green and red...

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**Hope you enjoyed it. Review if you get the chance**


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